


Midwinter

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen and Dorian's hands are far too important, M/M, fluff that turned into something more heartfelt, mention of sexual relationships, slightly drunk Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian gives Cullen a well thought out gift which leads them to exchanging more than just Midwinter cards and kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to be a lot longer and a lot more emotional than I had planned for it to be. Also, I seem to have fallen into the camp of needing to constantly navel-gaze about Cullen and Dorian's hands. It's useful this time, though.

One of the first times Dorian had truly paid attention to Cullen’s hands had been after they reclined in the bed in Dorian’s quarters. They hadn’t slept together, but Cullen had taken them both in hand until they were both completely spent. That had been amazing. As they lay there, Dorian threaded their fingers together and he noted through his satiated haze that Cullen’s hands were a bit swollen and chapped where the leather of his gloves, presumably, rubbed him raw during training with his recruits. Winter was an awful time to have to do anything outside, and it seemed as though Skyhold was perpetually in winter. It made everything more difficult, the cold, and he frowned as he traced one bejeweled finger along a particularly nasty crack in the older man’s knuckle.

“Do your hands always look like this?” Dorian asked, and lifted his gaze to study Cullen’s face. The other man was stretched out with his head half propped up against the headboard with his eyes closed.

One brown eye opened and Cullen chuckled, “That’s your first question? Really?” he asked, and with his free hand he gestured between the two of them.

Dorian laughed as well. His mind often flitted from thing to thing when he found something a source of interest, and it didn’t even occur to him that it might be strange to say something like that when they were lying together completely spent after fooling around together. “No, I was just looking at your hands,” he explained, and a wicked smile touched his face as he leaned forward to press a kiss against Cullen’s lips, “they are such capable hands, you know.”

He was rewarded with a blush and Cullen made a soft sound against Dorian’s lips, “Yes, try to flatter me to cover your own arse, I know you too well.” It was a gentle barb, something that Cullen said often during their chess games and Dorian so often found himself smiling after hearing it.

“You didn’t answer me. Do they always look like that?” he repeated. Again, his fingers trailed along the rough skin and calluses that were likely caused by holding a sword and shield for hours on end for _years_. In the cold that would hurt like hell, and he could only imagine the rubbing of leather against already cracked and pained skin would be maddening.

“I suppose,” came the reply as the slightly broader man shifted to press them closer together, “does it bother you? Not everyone can look as _delicate_ as you, you know.”

Dorian frowned for that, though he recognized the sass when he heard it. Perhaps Cullen was spending far too much time with him to be so good at it so quickly. “I’m hardly delicate,” he complained, and settled back against the headboard in a way that Cullen might have called a pout if ever he’d seen one. The mage didn’t stay like that, however, and took to turning Cullen’s hands over in his own to study them like some magical artifact, “I know of a salve that would help ease them.”

It was Cullen’s turn to frown then. He still didn’t quite trust any kind of magical healing, potion or otherwise. It always felt a bit wrong. “I’m not so sure I want any enchanted oil, but thanks all the same,” he commented. It earned him a theatrical roll of Dorian’s eyes, and Cullen winced a bit as one of Dorian’s fingers prodded at a sensitive place between his forefinger and thumb.

“It’s not magic,” Dorian argued, a hint of annoyance in his tone at the accusation. It wasn’t always magic with him. He’d learned a lot in Tevinter about many things, and while healing magic wasn’t his forte, he did learn how to make a few things to ease any hurts that came up in training. “It’s a bit of elfroot, beeswax, and some other herbs to help calm the swelling and keep your hands from cracking.” He turned to meet Cullen’s gaze then, “I suppose I could enchant it if you’re really interested in seeing that, but I’m not sure I could help myself from doing something wicked.”

A bit of a hum traveled through Cullen for that and for a moment all he could imagine was Dorian enchanting something to make their time in bed together either that much better or that much more needful. It was an interesting thought, turned off as he was by the idea of using magic in the bedroom, but he still shook his head. “You do enough wicked things as it is,” he pointed out, and moved a bit to wind his arms around the mage to pull him closer, “are you not supposed to be the Tevinter who’s stealing my soul at the moment? I distinctly remember hearing something about that.”

Dorian had a comeback ready for that, but he was smothered by Cullen’s mouth as the Templar pushed him back down on the bed. Certainly it seemed Cullen had been learning from him because the man was more than capable of a few wicked things himself.

\--

Midwinter was a time of exchanging gifts to show appreciation. For the Inquisition, it had turned into a reason to have a lavish banquet together and smuggle in trinkets to show their affection. Lavellan had gifted them all freshly made, dyed, and enchanted armor that was unique to every member of the group along with something smaller and more personal. Perhaps it had been a waste of Inquisition funds, but no one could fault her taste. Dagna had done an amazing job with the small pieces of Masterworks they’d been gifted to improve their kit, which was sorely needed now that it seemed Corypheus’ armies were getting bigger and stronger.

Everyone had exchanged small gifts together which had made some squeal in delight and others laugh with amusement. Varric hadn’t been above buying a few things as pranks, and Sera couldn’t help but amuse herself with the small flower that squirted water by aiming it at a very annoyed Solas. Truly, it had been a great party. Dorian had a few casks of good vintage Tevinter wine sent from a few friends, one of which had been cracked open to enjoy then and there, as a gift to Lavellan and the others. He wasn’t much good at personal things, since any show of true affection between himself and anyone before could have(and had) been used against him. It was better to do something more general. Or, at least, more general for the most part.

By the time everyone had stumbled off to bed, Dorian was almost too tipsy to remember that he did have one more gift to give. He’d waited until most everyone had gone before he grabbed Cullen by the sleeve to keep him from going to his quarters. It was probably a bit stupid since the odds were good Dorian would join him in a while, but it felt much more urgent to give the Commander his gift _now_.

“You are an incredibly hard man to buy for, did you know that?” Dorian announced. His voice wasn’t quiet or shy at all, despite how little he liked public affection. “Do you know how difficult it is to find something for someone so…” his voice trailed off as the hand holding Cullen’s sleeve let go so he could gesture vaguely, “dull. Yes, dull. You are incredibly dull, Commander, and it makes it hard for me to find anything dull enough to suit your tastes.”

Cullen was watching, completely amused by Dorian’s outburst. Maybe once he might have been hurt by such a comment, but Dorian thought everyone was some facet of dull. Nothing in the south ever lived up to his fine Tevinter tastes, other than Cullen’s company. Even that made him complain at times, and after a while Cullen had started to note the affection in which Dorian said those things. He did like to be so dramatic, after all. “Is that so?” he asked after a moment, and cocked an eyebrow at the hand Dorian had hidden behind his back, “how do you cope with me, I wonder? It must be a miracle you’re not constantly asleep.”

Dorian pointed at Cullen then, a slightly drunken expression of annoyance on his face, “Don’t get smug with me,” he chided though it had all the bite of a toothless puppy, “you’ve gotten incredibly mouthy since we’ve started seeing each other and I don’t like it.”

He fought the urge to say something that might have had to do mouths, but instead held up his hands in surrender, “Right. I’m sorry. Yes, I’m horribly dull. Was that it?” Cullen asked as he took a step forward to rest a hand on the mage’s hip.

“Yes,” Dorian affirmed with a nod, then shook his head, “wait, no. No. I do have something for you.” He pulled his other hand from behind his back to present Cullen with a small, elegantly wrapped, parcel. “This, I wanted you to have this.”

The Commander took it slowly, one eyebrow raised. He hadn’t expected anything from Dorian beyond a kiss and falling into bed together. They didn’t do gifts or trinkets, not really. It was more about words and actions: things to smooth down the rough edges and give succor to the hurts they both held onto. This was certainly a surprise. He unwrapped it carefully to expose a rather plain looking quartz pot. Brown eyes lifted again to meet Dorian’s slightly glazed grey ones, and he opened the lid to reveal what looked like a creamy beeswax mixture. It smelled medicinal and had the same texture as what one might rub onto a saddle to keep it dry in the rain. Perhaps that’s what it was? “Thank...you?” he offered, “for the, uh, whatever this is?”

The mage huffed a little, “It’s for your hands, man!” he explained a bit more forcefully for how tipsy he was, “I know they hurt you when it’s as cold as it is. And it’s not even enchanted with anything fun like I wanted to do. It’s just...to make you feel better.”

Cullen was taken aback a little. He recalled their talk not long ago on the same subject and he had to applaud Dorian for sticking to his convictions. Maybe this would help. Certainly it looked like it would. “Ah,” he amended gently. With a small smile he leaned in to press a soft kiss against Dorian’s lips, “then yes, thank you. My hands thank you in advance.”

“You don’t understand,” Dorian complained, though the kiss and the gratitude was nice. He liked being praised for being right, of course, but Cullen just didn’t understand why this was so important to him. “I don’t _do_ this for people,” he went on, “I don’t _comfort_. I _fuck_ and I do it very well. You know.” He chuckled a bit at his own cleverness there, but turned more serious after, “I don’t have anyone else. I don’t have a home anymore. I have this drafty castle with this group of probably insane people who are trying to kill a man who wants to be a God, and I have...you. I don’t belong anywhere except when we’re together. Like I’m, I...oh, Maker’s balls, I’ve lost it,” he intoned with more passion than Cullen had ever seen Dorian speak with before he lost steam.

It made Cullen reach out and pull Dorian a bit closer so they could start for his quarters. Standing there in tavern wasn’t going to afford them any privacy, and this wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. Dorian tucked himself in against Cullen’s body as they moved and buried his face between Cullen’s neck and the fur mantle he always seemed to be wearing when they were outside the bedroom. The hand not occupied with the gift he’d been given ran along Dorian’s arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, and when they got to his office Cullen closed over the heavy door so he could turn his attention back the mage. Hopefully not too much time had passed that Dorian’s train of thought would be gone.

“Am I thinking too hard about this?” Dorian asked after a long silence, and Cullen looked up to see where Dorian was rubbing the back of his neck in a way he knew the younger man had picked up from him, “that I’m...yours, Commander?”

Both of Cullen’s eyebrows rose for that. They’d been intimate for months, had steadily let it come to light among the rest of the Inquisition at Dorian’s pace, and Cullen had even gone with Lavellan and Dorian to meet with the man’s father. Cullen had been a silent companion, of course, but afterward he’d been there to help the mage pick up whatever pieces he felt he’d needed to. Still, they’d never said as much to one another. Of course it was clear in their touches, looks, and even the subtle barbs between them but it had never been voiced. Not so pointedly, anyway.

“You’re not sober,” Cullen answered after a long pause, and he reached out to cup a rapidly wilting Dorian’s face. That clearly hadn’t been what he wanted to hear.

“So I am overthinking it,” he prompted, “this is just...fun for you, is it?” Dorian was pulling away from him, and Cullen let out a slightly frustrated breath as he tried to gather the rather slippery mage back into his arms.

He set his hands on Dorian’s shoulders and chased his gaze for a long moment until they were looking at each other, “Listen to me,” Cullen instructed, “you’re not overthinking anything. You’re also not sober and this isn’t a conversation I want to have with you when you’re not sober.” He took care to hold Dorian’s gaze, and he leaned in to press his forehead against the other man’s, “I’m not pushing you away, so don’t go. Not even...figuratively. I know how you are when you start worrying something in that quick brain of yours, and you’ll never sleep if you keep chewing on this.”

Dorian let out a breath he’d been holding, and he moved a bit closer to cup his hands around the nape of Cullen’s neck, “Just tell me,” he whispered, his tone on the edge of something more pleading, “we can talk about it more when I’m not like this, but please just let me hear it. I had convinced myself that this was something else, and I...would _really_ like to be right for once.”

There was something amusing about Dorian saying ‘once’ in terms of him being right, but clearly now wasn’t the time. Cullen didn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but he did recognize when Dorian was hurting. It was an odd talent of his: being able to see past that rakish smile and oodles of charm that he let off, and sometimes it had even driven Dorian mad because Cullen saw him. “Dorian,” he began and paused. He had nothing built up in his head, no plans, and it scared him that he might say something stupid. Usually he liked to be prepared, but this whole conversation was something so different than what he was used to. “I’m not as good with words as you are,” he preempted, “but even you have to know that…” Cullen’s voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words.

“What, Amatus?” Dorian prompted, that same almost keening note in his tone. He’d never called Cullen that before, not before now, but he needed this. “Please.”

Hearing those words in that tone of voice made Cullen flush in a million ways that had nothing to do with embarrassment or sex. It was like his heart was about to beat out of his chest in the best way. _Maker’s breath…_ “We belong together,” he stated finally, and it came out clear as day and like it made the most sense in the world. Oddly, he found that it wasn’t hard to say. Everything else had just kept it back. “It’s...there’s no question,” he expounded, and it made a light laugh escape him. It was like a weight had been lifted.

In that moment Dorian experienced probably every emotion he’d ever felt in his life. A single second felt like days as he stared into those honey brown eyes and waited for whatever it was that Cullen had to say. Perhaps it was because he was still tipsy from all that amazing wine and it made him that much more dramatic, but it didn’t matter. What did matter was the near-holler he gave out when heard those words and kissed Cullen soundly. _Oh, Maker._ Happiness of every kind exploded through him and he tangled his fingers in those soft blond curls that Cullen worked so hard to keep neat and tidy. Who knew a simple jar of salve would lead to this, but Dorian cared not at all.

\--

The following morning, after they’d barely made it up the ladder to Cullen’s bed before they started pulling off clothes, Dorian woke with a blinding headache. The Commander still hadn’t put in requisitions to have the roof fixed, and the winter sunlight pouring in made everything that much more painful. Dorian was used to a hangover, surely, but to be so rudely woken by birds and bright sun made him even more grumpy than the fact that Cullen wasn’t in bed with him. He blinked, one hand running over his face as he tried to orient himself, and Dorian figured by how light it was that he’d slept in well past when Cullen normally woke and started his day.

He stumbled to his feet and made his way over to the washbasin so he could splash some water on his face, then sighed a bit. Normally he could hear Cullen working below him when he woke, but it seemed the good Commander wasn’t in. War Table duties, Dorian assumed, and part of him throbbed for how much he’d wanted to see him first thing. He hadn’t been so drunk that he was unaware of their conversation the night before, and he’d been honest about wanting to have the same talk when he was sober. Still, Dorian couldn’t help the smile that settled on his features whenever he thought of Cullen’s admission.

_Cullen, Cullen, Cullen,_ the man’s name ran like a cold river in his head and all the way down to where it pooled pleasantly in his chest. Beautiful Cullen with his kind eyes and how he’d looked so...shocked at himself for being able to tell Dorian how he’d felt. It was enough to make him feel incredibly entitled now. He belonged with Cullen. With. _With._ Not _to._ Dorian was sure Cullen had made sure to phrase it that way. Neither ever wanted to feel indebted or chained, and the admission of equals only made that affection in him grow. Magister and Templar Commander. It was a hilarious thought, but it did make sense in a strange way.

When he’d dressed, Dorian made his way down to the empty office. Cullen had been gone for hours. With a smile, the mage penned a quick note to say he’d missed having a morning together and could they please meet for supper. They usually did anyhow, but it felt nice to say as much. He paused before signing and quickly added that he wanted to try their talk again as they’d already promised: _I want to be able to tell you and be of sound mind._ Dorian signed his name in the usual way of extravagant flourish. He was all drama, after all.

That afternoon found Dorian in his alcove, hunched over his small desk as he pored through what little factual Tevinter history the Inquisition had. He’d sent out for better books, since if he were to find out Corypheus’ true name he’d need more than propaganda to search through. A messenger found him then, an envelope in hand. Strange. It was also one of Cullen’s messengers and Dorian had to wonder what this was about. Most things came by scroll, even small notes saying ‘not tonight, I’ll see you for chess tomorrow.’ An envelope, however? How deliciously mysterious. Dorian took it with a small word of thank and moved to the comfortable chair he’d dragged up from a pile of gifts Lavellan had received from Orlais. It fit his back perfectly when he read, and he figured she wouldn’t miss it.

Dorian cracked the seal: Cullen’s Templar seal in the shape of a warrior’s glove in a fist. He’d always liked that symbol; it suited his lover to the ground. Inside was a piece of parchment that Dorian expected Cullen would want him to read first, but there was definitely something else inside. Something that was slightly heavy, sounded like metal, and was free to shake in the envelope as he handled it. Curious. The note read as follows:

_I didn’t spend days in the infirmary working on this, and I hope you’ll forgive me for it. Yes, supper tonight. Maybe this will suffice in place of me not being able to manage an eloquent admission a second time? I love you._

_Cullen_

The mage stared at the those last three words for a long moment as his heart fluttered almost painfully in his chest. Love? Truly? They hadn’t said anything about love the night before, but Dorian felt the words on his tongue just as he might have a piece of chocolate. It tasted good, felt better in his heart, and he lifted a hand to a warm cheek in the realization that Cullen Rutherford had made him blush. The gall of the man.

He looked from the neatly scripted letter to the envelope that still had this mysterious object inside. Dorian neatly tucked the parchment in amongst his other papers so that he could, and would, read it over and over later. The word ‘love’ was echoing in his mind like the bells of the Chantry and it made him feel like he was spinning. With a soft breath he tipped the envelope to the side so that whatever was in it could slide into his waiting palm. A chain with a small, simple pendant fell and settled in a pile and Dorian cocked an eyebrow at the sight. He knew this piece of jewelry well.

Cullen wasn’t much of one for adornment, unlike Dorian who wore all kinds at all times. The only thing Dorian had ever seen him wear, and he’d mouthed at during their times together in a bid to tease the poor Commander, was this small golden pendant that was smooth on one side and stamped with the same symbol Dorian had cracked to open the envelope before. It was his identifier as Commander General, which Dorian knew he took ridiculously seriously. So much so that Dorian had often gasped out his rank as a tease when they came together, and it had often been met with a sour look followed by an exasperated laugh. Having this pendant gifted to him was no idle choice. It had weight. It said a million things all at once, and Dorian clasped his fingers around it for a long moment.

When he put it on, he made sure the stamped side faced inward. When Cullen wore it, it was always facing out though he always had it on under his armor and tunic: should something happen in battle it was the fastest and best way to figure out what company he belonged to. Dorian tucked it under his clothes as well so that it could nestle against his chest. A smile had settled on his features as he contemplated the whole blasted mess, and he shook his head as he started to laugh. The pendant, despite how small it was, felt like it was made to nestle against his heart. Perhaps that had been the point.


End file.
